


One Can Never Foresee the Spark

by temperamental_mistress



Series: A Shower of Sparks [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Canon Era, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-06 21:26:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6770521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/temperamental_mistress/pseuds/temperamental_mistress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Feuilly forced himself to breathe before turning back. With a well aimed punch, he reasoned, he could break free and be halfway down the next street before the police could be summoned. </p>
<p>The man stepped closer, until they were toe to toe beneath a still unlit street lamp. “Are you content to live your life in hiding?” his voice had dropped to a whisper, and his hand remained on Feuilly’s wrist. His grip was tight, but not impossibly strong. </p>
<p>Feuilly did not answer, certain now the man was going to have him arrested. His mind raced with rumors of the Burning, by which magic could be forced out of a person. Instinctively, he began to pull back, but the hand on his wrist held firm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Can Never Foresee the Spark

Feuilly flexed his fingers, stiff after hours of work to finish a particularly detailed fan. His eyes ached from the close work, certainly not helped by how late he had stayed up reading the night before. The workingman stared intently at his calloused hands. It was nothing short of a miracle that he had not sparked once in the long hours he spent under his employer’s watchful eye. He only trusted his luck to last so long. With a sigh, Feuilly adjusted his cap and picked up his pace.  
  
It was risky to live as he did. His landlady had the eyes of a fox, and he hardly dared to use his magic even in the privacy of his own rooms with the shutters closed. A fellow worker had been thrown from the workshop the week before simply for mentioning sparks. The few occasions Feuilly found himself in a safe place, he was too exhausted to properly burn off the excess energy that flowed through his veins.  
  
As he turned a corner sharply, he collided headlong with another body, and staggered backward. A handful of sparks escaped from his fingertips, a brief shower of bright light that flickered out of existence as quickly as it had appeared. Feuilly’s entire body stiffened.  
  
“ _Shit_.” He balled his hands into fists, as much to hide further sparks as to prepare for what blows might come. Gritting his teeth, he raised his gaze to take in the form of the stunned man staring at him from a few paces away.  
  
They were nearly matched in height, Feuilly the shorter by a breath. Gold-blonde hair crowned the man’s head in a thick, unbound mane. His blue eyes were focused on Feuilly’s hands, only causing Feuilly to clench them tighter. He was dressed well, clothing tailored and without patches or stains. A student, if Feuilly had to guess, although the man looked almost too young to fit the part.  
  
Even as Feuilly’s every instinct demanded that he flee, he found his feet rooted to the spot where he stood, both captivated and terrified by the man. “—your pardon,  monsieur,” he managed, fighting down a sudden wave of nausea.  
  
The man seemed to remember himself and reanimated, raising his eyes to meet Feuilly’s, “No, no. The fault is mine, citizen.” His gaze was intense, and sent a shiver of discomfort up Feuilly’s spine. “You are unharmed, I hope?”  
  
Feuilly nodded, eyes already flitting about to take in the rest of the street. Had anyone else seen? The light was dim enough that the sparks would have drawn attention. He swallowed, “If you’ll excuse me…” It took every ounce of willpower to take a step to the man’s side, and then another.  
  
A hand closed around his wrist. Feuilly’s heart all but stopped in his chest.  
  
“A moment, citizen. Please.”  
  
Feuilly forced himself to breathe before turning back. With a well aimed punch, he reasoned, he could break free and be halfway down the next street before the police could be summoned.  
  
The man stepped closer, until they were toe to toe beneath a still unlit street lamp. “Are you content to live your life in hiding?” his voice had dropped to a whisper, and his hand remained on Feuilly’s wrist. His grip was tight, but not impossibly strong.  
  
Feuilly did not answer, certain now the man was going to have him arrested. His mind raced with rumors of the Burning, by which magic could be forced out of a person. Instinctively, he began to pull back, but the hand on his wrist held firm.  
  
“Will you suffer these injustices with the rest, or are you willing to fight for freedom?”  
  
The man released his wrist at last, and reached up to adjust the collar of his coat. Feuilly’s eyes were immediately drawn to the single spark that appeared. He blinked, certain that it must be a trick of his exhausted eyes. The man’s deep blue eyes caught his gaze again, and Feuilly knew he had not imagined the spark. As if to reassure him, the man put a hand into his golden hair and released two more sparks, invisible to passerby, but clear as day to Feuilly.  
  
“Surely freedom is something you can appreciate more than most,” the man said.  
  
“Yes,” Feuilly breathed, his entire attention now fixated on this strange, illuminated being. He had met only a few other Sparked since his arrival in Paris, but had made no move to associate with them. It was safer to remain separate, free of any potential suspicion. Still, there was a certain thrill that ran through his veins at the sight of this man who seemed almost entirely composed of light.  
  
The man smiled, “Join me for a meal, so we might speak more comfortably.” It was not quite a request, but neither was it a command. Feuilly chewed his tongue, knowing he could not afford whatever dining establishment this student was accustomed to, but the words to refuse did not rise readily to his lips.  
  
“I will pay,” the man continued and immediately cut off Feuilly’s protest of the charity, “to apologize for having startled you so.”  
  
It would have been easy to refuse, had this been a normal man. Drawn in by his almost unnatural light, however, Feuilly found it impossible. He extended a hand in greeting, but could not quite manage a smile through his lingering nerves, “Feuilly.”  
  
The man’s smile was radiant in the fading light of day, “Enjolras.”  


* * *

  
Despite the discomfort Feuilly felt at having a stranger buy him a meal, he could not deny the relief that came from a full stomach after a long day’s work. It was especially comforting to know that he would have something left in his savings by the end of the week.  
  
“Why?” Feuilly asked, breaking the silence that had settled over them as they had eaten. “What made you ask me those things?” He kept his voice low, acutely aware of how near the diners at other tables were, even if the noise of the room hid the topic of their conversation.  
  
“I saw something in you, in the moment after we collided,” Enjolras said, setting down his glass. “Anyone else might have run, but you stayed. Another man might have tried to fight me, but you held back. I could see that there was more to you than the average man.”  
  
Feuilly snorted, and looked away, “You’re mistaken.”  
  
“Perhaps, but I do not believe so.” Enjolras folded his hands on the table, and leaned forward. “I am not the only one striving for change. There are a group of others like myself who meet nearby.”  
  
“I’m not interested in debating.”  
  
“We do much more than discuss theory,” Enjolras pressed. “We are planning for something bigger. We are fighting every day to inspire the people to rise and join the struggle.”  
  
Feuilly swallowed, “Are you all…” He did not dare to speak the word aloud, not in the open.  
  
“Not all, but most of us,” Enjolras smiled. “The rest are sympathetic to the cause. I trust them all with my life.”  
  
Though the golden-haired student sounded sincere, Feuilly bit his lip. There was too much to consider. He had been so very careful for so long. He doubted he could find another job to cover his living expenses if he were to lose his current position. It had been almost impossible to convince his landlady to take him on as a tenant. The risk was enormous.  
  
“You need not decide tonight,” Enjolras said, pulling him from his thoughts. “I realize it is no small thing to ask. We are meeting two nights hence, in the back room of the cafe Musain. Our door is open to you, should you choose to seek us out.” He pushed his chair back and rose, “I hope to see you again, Feuilly.”  
  
He could only nod in response.  


* * *

  
_“Are you content to live your life in hiding?”_  
  
The words repeated in Feuilly’s head as he made his way back to his lodgings, and crawled into bed. The memory of the man’s impassioned whisper lingered in his ears as he tried desperately to fall asleep. After a time, he rolled over onto his back, lifting a hand in the darkness. He was too tired to perform any worthwhile magic, but a few lazy sparks fell from his fingers, briefly illuminating his room. Enjolras had released only a single spark at a time, clearly practiced and in control of his magic. Even when they had collided, there had been no stray sparks from the taller man. Feuilly sighed, pulling his hand back under the blanket. Was it worth trading safety for the chance to learn that level of control?  
  
Morning came sooner than Feuilly would have liked. He had managed a few hours’ sleep, but as always, it was never quite enough to leave him feeling rested. He dressed, and ate a spare breakfast, forcing himself to burn off what magic he could through small acts as he prepared for the day. He stood in front of his door for several minutes, willing his magic deeper into his veins until there was no sign of a spark. It took enormous concentration to keep from jumping out of his skin as he passed his landlady on the stairs, her eyes trained on him the entire time. There was a new sign in the front window when he reached the street, advising that Sparked need not apply to be tenants.  
  
_“Will you suffer these injustices with the rest, or are you willing to fight for freedom?”_  
  
Feuilly tightened his jaw and pushed Enjolras’s words from his mind as he headed for the workshop. What would students know of injustices? Sparked though they might be, they had families and wealth to fall back on. The police could be bribed to ignore a spark or two. They wouldn’t be expelled from the Polytechnic for simply mentioning Spark. He shook his head, forcing himself to walk faster to keep his mind from the matter.  
  
He arrived at the workshop already exhausted. The poor night’s sleep had done him no favors, and his nerves began to drain the rest of his energy as he set down to work. The prickle of magic in his veins was dangerously tempting as he painted. It would be so simple to channel it into his brush, to embellish the fan with light and gold. He recalled the way Enjolras had so freely released sparks, mere moments after meeting. Though he had hidden them well, Feuilly couldn’t help believe that the student wasn’t afraid to be seen sparking.  
  
_“Surely freedom is something you can appreciate more than most.”_  
  
On his way home, Feuilly lingered at the street corner where he had collided with Enjolras. Every moment of the exchange replayed in his head. Feuilly felt the same, breathless wonder fill him that he had felt at seeing Enjolras almost glowing despite the fading light of day. He smiled to himself, decision made.

* * *

  
Feuilly nearly changed his mind on three separate occasions. Two steps into the Musain, he turned around to leave again. Did Enjolras simply expect him to waltz into the cafe and look for the back room? The last thing he wanted was to draw so much attention to himself.  
  
A shadow filled the doorway, blocking his exit. Feuilly looked up to see an impeccably dressed young man with dark curls grinning wildly at him.  
  
“You must be Feuilly! Enjolras mentioned that you might come.” The man immediately extended a hand, even as Feuilly was trying to absorb how this stranger could identify him, “I am Courfeyrac.”  
  
Feuilly shook the offered hand, and tried to mirror the smile, but the pit of his stomach continued to churn. Courfeyrac ushered him through the cafe to a door Feuilly was quite certain he would never have found of his own accord.  
  
Stepping through the door, Feuilly froze. Men roughly his own age were clustered around the room in small groups, talking and laughing. Everywhere he looked, someone was sparking or very obviously working magic. No effort was made to hide these displays of light.  
  
A hand clapped his shoulder, and Feuilly startled. “Quite the sight, isn’t it?” Courfeyrac asked. He could only nod in response, voice completely lost. He was dimly aware that Courfeyrac was listing names, and pointing to each cluster of men, but he didn’t hear a word. Instead, his eyes were drawn to the brightest figure in the room, sitting at the center of it all. Enjolras was scribbling furiously away with a pen at a table by himself. Although Feuilly could see the light coming off of almost every man in the room, none compared to Enjolras, who blazed brighter than the rest.  
  
“And you’ve met Enjolras already,” Courfeyrac concluded, drawing Feuilly’s attention back. “Find a seat. I’ll find you some wine!”  
  
Left suddenly alone, Feuilly took a deep breath, trying to take in the room around him. No one seemed particularly interested in him, most absorbed in their conversations or domino games, or drink. His gaze drifted back to Enjolras. A second glass of wine had been set on his table, and Feuilly just managed to spot Courfeyrac wandering away from the table as Enjolras looked up. The student’s face brightened immediately upon spotting Feuilly. After a moment’s hesitation, Feuilly crossed the room to join him.  
  
“I had hoped you would come,” Enjolras gestured for him to take a seat, and pushed the wine across the table.  
  
Feuilly nodded, mutely, still struggling to string words together. He sipped at the offered wine to buy himself a few more moments to think. “There are more of you than I thought,” he managed at last.  
  
Again, Enjolras smiled, “You will learn their names in time. I am sure Courfeyrac was nothing less than thorough, but sometimes his excitement gets the better of him.”  
  
Feuilly felt the corners of his mouth twitch, unable to fight the start of a smile, “I…I don’t quite know what use I will be to your group, but-“  
  
Enjolras shook his head, “There is much we can learn from each other. A single spark is not much use, but together our light is that much brighter.”  
  
Feuilly felt a weight fall away from his shoulders, and he allowed himself to smile fully. Like a moth to a flame, he had been drawn in by this man’s light, but instead of burning up, all he could feel was warmth. He hardly noticed the sparks falling from his own hands.


End file.
